A Wolf's Vengeance
by FlamingChip
Summary: When the death of his new pack stirs the wolf blood inside him, the Young Wolf takes matters into his own hands. He will make sure that he wins this war and instill a new future for the North. The pup will not yield, and he will do what it takes to make sure the Lannisters never forget what happens when winter comes.
1. Chapter 1

_**A new story! I plan on updating this alongside Fire in the Wind so you should get a new chapter for each whenever they are released. Another AU story this time with no threat from the Others, as well as Robb Stark having married Roslin Frey as soon as he received word of the betrothal in order to not break his mother's oath. This story takes place about 7-8 months after their marriage. Robb will be a bit (small changes, honestly!) AU in personality, hopefully that doesn't sour your mood.**_

 _ **To be truthful, this story loosely takes place within this amazing game of Crusader Kings 2 I had using the Game of Thrones mod, most of the later main events happened in the game but will be used sparingly as they do get kind of crazy (I'm talking Tywin became immortal and tamed a dragon crazy, which -obviously- won't be appearing). I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!**_

 _ **A new chapter of Fire in the Wind will be up tomorrow, still have to finish one scene, so in the mean time, here is A Wolf's Vengeance!**_

* * *

He had done his duty, and this is how the Gods repaid him. Had it been because he had laid with Jeyne Westerling? Were the Gods punishing him for that? Or were they punishing him for not confirming their marriage before a weirwood tree? The king and his men had just returned from a successful battle against the Lannister forces, Jaime Lannister was still held captive in their camp, and things seemed to be looking up for the Stark forces. Robb Stark, the King in the North, was regaling in their victory when the news came that his wife, Roslin Frey, had gone into labor. He cursed himself for not having kept a closer eye, but surely it was too early… Surely his wife still had a few more months. Perhaps the Gods damned him for not treating her as a wife and instead more of someone to breed his heirs. Damn it, damn it all!

"Your grace?" the maester questioned softly as the king held his newborn daughter in his arms, trying to will her to take her first breath. It had been over an hour. Robb Stark sat silent, his clothes bathed in blood as he stared at the child's face. He imagined her growing up to be a true Northern princess, learning needlework with her aunt Sansa, practicing with her aunt Arya in the tiltyard, learning to read with her uncle Bran… Stealing sweets with Rickon… The King in the North shuddered and tried not to let out another cry of agony. This was supposed to be a happy day for the North, the birth of the next generation after so many losses had been generated from this forsaken war. "Your grace?" the maester pressed again, but Robb didn't wish to speak. Not to the maester, not to his squire Olyvar, not to anyone. Olyvar Frey stood vigil over his sister's unmoving body, his own tears staining his face but he stood silent with his sword pressed firmly into the ground, daring anyone to disturb the peace.

Finally the maester left the premises knowing that he wasn't going to be the one to get a response from the king and the two good-brothers locked eyes. Sobs erupted from Olyvar and soon Robb followed. It felt wrong, Robb concluded, that he should be crying for a wife he didn't love, for someone he treated so poorly as he still pinned for the Westerling girl that had since been married off. The squire dropped to his knees and placed his head upon his sister's motionless hand. Robb clutched his daughter closer to his body as a protective wolf mother would do to her own pup. He wanted nothing more to comfort his good-brother but he couldn't move from his spot. Something kept him from moving towards Roslin.

A commotion outside didn't tear Robb's gaze away from his daughter and neither did a woman's gasp as she flew through the tent flap. Olyvar quickly stood at the ready, damn the tears blinding him, but when he saw who it was he let his guard down and returned to his vigil. The room smelled and was covered in blood. Catelyn Stark's mouth went dry.

"Robb…"

They say in the South the birthing chamber was a woman's battleground and many of the Northerners would have scoffed at that idea. But that was the truth, his Southron wife had fought and lost her battle today. Was that why the Gods punished him? Because he had married in the South like his father had?

"S-She looks like you, doesn't she, mother?"

His throat hurt as he spoke and his voice was hoarse and threatened to break. Olyvar whispered softly, "She has our mother's nose. She is the cumulation of both of our mothers…" Catelyn Stark sat next to her son and granddaughter, brushing back the babe's small tuft of fiery red hair that reminded her so much of Sansa. Tears filled her eyes and and pulled her son into a tight hug, the same that she would do when he had hurt himself when he was so young, the same when he had heard of Eddard's death. Robb let out another sob and shook in his seat.

"Have you named her?" Catelyn questioned after a few minutes of embrace. The King in the North's eyes widened, he had indeed not thought of that. Roslin claimed it would be a son, in fact she was sure of it. They wanted little Eddard Stark to run around as their prince. It was the only time that Robb seemed to care for his wife, when she spoke of their son. But Robb never thought of a name for a girl, perhaps Roslin had. He could honor his mother by naming her Catelyn, but instead he croaked to Olyvar. "Brother, what was your mother's name?"

"Bethany." Olyvar whispered back, his own eyes not leaving his sister's. The King in the North nodded.

"Then that will be her name. Bethany."

Catelyn Stark's heart sunk and she ran her hand through her son's auburn curls. He would have to marry again, but this? She felt as if this was all her fault. She had forced her son into a marriage he did not want, and now his wife and child lay dead. It was a cruel twist of fate that the Seven had given them.

"May I hold her?" she finally asked, to which Robb reluctantly agreed, letting go of his little girl for the first time since he had been given her. Robb took this time to stand and approach his wife who smelt of blood and death. He knelt before her and took her hand, kissing it softly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "you didn't deserve this…"

* * *

Hours passed and soon the hour of the wolf was upon the trio that had not left the tent which Roslin had given birth in. Robb Stark had stared at a candle for the last twenty minutes, planning in his head what to do next. The elephant remained in the room, he would have to marry again, but this time he would take things into his own hands. He could hear Grey Wind growling whenever someone tried to approach the tent, to which he appreciated, but now it was time to address his people. No doubt word was spreading through the camp, and he would not be known as a coward. Something snapped in Robb in that moment, perhaps it was the wolf blood that his uncle Brandon was said to have, but he stood and kissed his wife and daughter's forehead one last time.

"Olyvar, my sword."

The squire nodded and sniffled his tears away, an anger in his eyes at this fate they were given. Good, that was what Robb needed behind him. The Frey gave Robb his sword and looked back at his sister. "If it is alright with you, your grace, I wish to stand vigil for my queen and princess until they are buried." Robb noded, "Granted, Olyvar, as long as you promise me to eat." The squire nodded and tried, and failed, to give a small smile and returned to his post. Robb looked down to Catelyn Stark, "Mother?" but the former Tully shook her head.

"I will keep Olyvar company… And, I would like to hold Bethany for a while longer."

The king nodded and looked once more to his former good-brother, he placed his hand upon his shoulder, "You will _always_ be my brother, Olyvar, no matter what they say." Olyvar Frey finally let out a small smile, the only smile he had manifested all day, "Thank you, Robb. That means, so much more than you know." Robb smiled a small smile of his own, looking once more at his deceased wife and his heart ached, "Watch over her, brother, watch over both of them for me."

Perhaps Grey Wind could feel his anger and sorrow because he pressed his large head into Robb's side as he emerged from the tent. "Come boy," Robb whispered, "it is time to do our duty."

Robb found his uncle Edmure first and the heir to Riverrun tried to comfort his nephew but the king brushed him off. "Call the lords, uncle, that is an order." Edmure rushed off and Robb took a seat in his temporary throne. It was nothing like his father's -nay, his- chair in Winterfell, nor was it the damned Iron Throne, but it was a large wooden throne with a crude direwolf carved into the bark. It would do for now.

It took only a few minutes for all the lords and ladies to appear, and he noticed the Freys standing in a corner to the back of the group. He cursed himself, he didn't need Walder Frey taking his troops back due to his daughter's death. Whispers and conversations escalated until finally the Greatjon boomed, "Oi! Your king demands your attention!"

Robb nodded to the Greatjon, "Thank you, Lord Umber." His Tully eyes scanned the crowd, making notes in his head of who was sitting close to one another, who was staring at him menacingly, and those whom he supposed already knew what had transpired. After another moment of silence, the king sighed and bowed his head.

"Our queen, Roslin, is dead," he called out, earning a shout of despair from the Freys, "she lost her battle in the birthing bed, as well as my daughter." Whispers shot through the crowd when Dacey Mormont stood in a manner that reminded Robb of when the Greatjon declared him king.

"My lords!" she shouted, "Roslin might have been a Frey, she might have been a Southroner, but she was our queen. I had no quarrels with her, that doesn't mean I was fond of her either. But, she deserves the respect that we would give Lady Catelyn if something were to befall her."

Many shouts of agreements were heard, and Ryman Frey stepped forward out of the group of Frey soldiers and stomped angrily to the king. "If my cousin is dead, then where is Olyvar? How are we to know you Northern savages didn't have them killed!"

Grey Wind growled and snapped at Ryman, sending the Frey back towards the crowd in fear. "Olyvar stands vigil over my wife and daughter's bodies, Lord Ryman, at his request no less. And I will forget your remark this one time."

"Then what of our alliance? Must I bring my forces back to the Twins?"

Robb ground his teeth and snarled, "Your cousin lay dead and that is your first thought? What should be done about your troops? Your queen is dead, Roslin is dead, and you hold no sympathy for her?"

"W-Well I-" Frey stumbled upon his words, but Alesander Frey stepped forward and pushed his cousin away, "I, for one, will take my lord grandfather's punishment, but I swear my allegiance to you, your grace. House Frey will stand with you one way or another."

"You fool!" Ryman scolded, "We have no reason to stay!"

But the young Frey narrowed his eyes at the elder, "Then you may leave and Olyvar and I will lead the Frey forces."

"Enough!" Robb shouted, "I will deal with Walder Frey and the terms of our alliance at a later date. But for now one thing is certain." He took a deep breath and stared into the eyes of Ryman Frey. "We must prepare for our next battle, and may it be in Roslin's memory."

* * *

It wasn't that he didn't like the Greatjon, but Rickard Karstark wished one day the Old Gods would find a way to silence the Umber's booming voice. But why the Young Wolf had called both of their council was… intriguing. Rickard had stormed out of the tent when his king had offered peace to the Lannisters under his own terms, for how could their king speak of peace when their enemies were still pillaging the lands of his mother's people? Bah, youth and their damn decisions. The lord of Karhold drank slowly from his cup while the Greatjon was on his… Fourth? Fifth? He didn't keep track past the second.

"How are you so jovial, Umber?" _How is that man still sober?_

"Ha! Karstark, how are you so serious?!"

"The queen is dead." Rickard retorted, even if he wasn't fond of the idea of a Southron queen he still knew that he should mourn the death of her and a Stark. _The princess…_ Whispers were that the child looked more Southron than their king did, surely that wouldn't have bode well for the other Northern lords. Twice the Warden of the North had married outside of the North, and surely the Gods were punishing them now. But they had shown them good fortune with their king never losing a battle. It was intriguing to say the least.

"And may her Gods give her rest wherever they take her," Greatjon replied, his tone getting serious, "but now is not the time to grieve for her."

"I beg your pardon, Lord Umber?"

The Greatjon spat his drink out all over himself as the King in the North walked into the tent that he had summoned the two lords into.

"M-My apologies, your grace," the Greatjon whimpered in an un-Greatjon-like fashion, "I seem to have had too much to drink."

Rickard Karstark stifled back a laugh, seeing the Greatjon turn into almost a child being scolded by his father, but he bowed his head towards his king. "You summoned us, your grace?"

Robb Stark nodded and took a seat next to the two Northern lords. "Aye, I have. It has come to my realization that I need to marry once more. I have no say in what the Gods will, but if the Gods killed my wife in childbirth because she was Southron I will not oppose their will again. I intend to marry a girl of the North, as my father would have wanted."

 _Oh. Oh my._ That's why his king called him to council. Rickard's face remained stoic and unmoving, attempting to shield his joy at his daughter being even considered to be the king's wife. Or, perhaps he wasn't considering his Alys at all. He nodded curtly, "Our council is yours."

Robb pressed his chin into his folded hands and stared at his father's two most valued bannermen, "Dacey Mormont has politely suggested she'd commit regicide if I were to force her to wed me, so I look to you two. Lord Umber, Lord Karstark, you both have daughters my age if I am not mistaken."

Greatjon spoke first, "My Wylla! Unless you like older women, then my Alysanne would be good for you. But Wylla is a few months younger than you, your grace! She's as tall as Smalljon and twice as strong. Strong woman if you wish to bare heirs." The look on Robb's face of guilt and sorrow made the Greatjon bow his head once more. "Apologies your grace, I forgot."

"It is alright, Greatjon." Robb sighed, "This will always be a dark day in our history, that is for sure." He turned now to Rickard, "Lord Karstark, what of Alys?"

The lord of Karhold remembered of how Alys had once danced with Robb at a banquet held by his father. He had hoped Alys would have charmed Robb Stark then in order to get a betrothal between them, perhaps it finally had worked. "Quick as a whip, your grace, and a Northerner through and through. Winter's lady, that's what my Torrhen called her. Surely you remember her."

"Aye, I do," Robb mused, "I have a difficult decision to make, my lords, surely you realize this. I hope you two have no ill-will towards each other or me depending on whom I choose to be my wife."

The two lords shook their heads no, but it was then that the Greatjon spoke again, "Marry Alys."

"What?" the king and Rickard Karstark questioned loudly.

"Marry Alys, your grace. Rickard has lost two sons, possibly a third, let him gain another. And, Gods forbid, something happens to Harrion, your children will rule Karhold instead of Arnolf and his gits."

Rickard blinked at the Greatjon to which he boomed and laughed, "You know I'm right, Rickard! The Others can take your brother most days and Cregan's lucky my Alysanne didn't chop his head off the last time he made a pass at her."

Robb looked to his seemingly newly appointed good-father and let a small smile, even though his heart still hurt for his child. "Lord Karstark?"

Karstark had no idea what to think, but the words fell from his mouth quicker than he could properly think them, "Who am I to refuse a king, son?"

"Then it's settled," Robb declared as he stood from his seat, "Greatjon, I wish to extend another betrothal option to you as well." The Greatjon looked upon his king with a quizzical look, "And that is? No offense, your grace, but I'm not marrying your mother. Ned would slay me from beyond." The king almost looked disgusted at the thought, but shook his head. "Nay, I wish to betroth Sansa to your son, Smalljon. Once we annul her marriage to the Imp."

"It's a good match, Umber," Rickard piped up, "Your boy gets a Northern princess, I'm sure Lord Eddard would have approved of the match greatly."

The Greatjon poured another mug of ale and rose it in the air. "The boy needs to wed, I'm not getting any younger. To my son and the princess, Sansa! To King Robb and Queen Alys!"

Surely Rickard could drink to that. He too raised his glass, "To Queen Roslin, and to the princess, whose memory will help us win this war." Greatjon muttered an aye and handed a mug to their king. "Aye," Robb stated, "To Bethany, and to Roslin, may my father welcome them into his arms and into the Old God's light." The three drank from their cups and Rickard took that moment to place his hand upon Robb's shoulder and whisper into his ear as the Greatjon wandered off to no doubt tell Smalljon of his new betrothal.

"Thank you, your grace, for the honor of asking for my daughter's hand."

Robb shook his head, "Thank your daughter for dancing with me that night years ago in Winterfell's halls."

And with that, Rickard Karstark had hope for the future, and that he made the right choice naming Robb Stark his king.


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, here we have chapter two of _A Wolf's Vengeance_! I want to thank you all for the support you guys had towards the first chapter and I'm excited to get this one out to you all as well.**

 **Now in the books, Smalljon is the only named child of Greatjon Umber, so I'm taking liberties with Smalljon's description of his sister Wylla in the chapter.**

 **I hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

When he married Roslin Frey, that was the last time that Robb Stark wanted to return to the Twins, but now that his wife and child lay dead he was here yet again. Walder Frey was a terrible old git to say the least, and was not the person that Robb wanted to call his good-father. But now he was free of the Freys, but at what cost? He had lost his daughter, and now the fate of the Northern royal family remained in limbo. Hopefully Lord Karstark would send for his daughter quickly, and he could focus on another heir. _That's what killed Roslin._ No, he had to learn to love Alys as his father and mother had. The towers of the Twins were large and foreboding, but he knew that this was home for Roslin and where she would have wanted to be buried. And while his daughter was a Stark, Robb had considered burying her with her mother. But instead he had sent a party north to Winterfell to deal with Bolton's bastard and to carry Bethany's body to be buried within the Godswood.

Ah, the Bolton bastard. Ramsay Snow. He had refused to release Theon Greyjoy into his captivity and had made a sly mention in his recent letter that the Stark king needed to remember House Bolton's words. _Our Blades are Sharp!_ He had written. _Winterfell understood that._ Robb had immediately taken Roose for questioning, and had discovered a plot to make the Boltons the new Wardens of the North under Joffrey's kingdom. Roose claimed he had nothing to do with it, but Robb did not believe him one bit. So, the Lord of the Dreadfort sat in Riverrun's dungeons until Robb could question him further. Perhaps with his bastard son standing next to him. It had been Roslin's urging to get to the bottom of this, and for that he would always be grateful. She had mentioned once that her father had regularly contacted Bolton towards the beginning of the war. Was that why Robb did not trust her as he should have? He still blamed himself for the death of his wife and child, it was clearly the Old Gods punishing him for something. But this time, this time he would honor his wife and make sure to rule with her, not over her.

The last battle they had waged with the Lannister forces had been another victory for the Stark army, one that hurt the Iron Throne's forces by the death of half of their men in that group. The casualties were not as severe on the Stark side, but the loss of Ryman Frey due to a loose arrow wasn't a sad event for the Frey troops. Robb named Alesander their leader, as Olyvar had sworn his fealty to Robb and requested to serve as a member of his personal bodyguard. The only other notable loss on the Stark side was Jharl Fisher, the lord of the Stony Shore. Robb was unsure whether Jharl had a son to further on his line, it would be one of the first things he would have to sort out when they were done with the funeral. Should the title revert back to the crown, Robb was unsure of what to do with it. Without the Fishers, the entire Northwestern coast of the North was left unguarded save for Bear Island. He had planned on giving the land of Sea Dragon Point to Rickon when he came of age, but Theon had stopped those plans.

As they neared the Twins, the sound of a horse galloping quicker than the other filled the king's ears, but he did not turn to look. Instead he turned to Olyvar and motioned for him to ride ahead to alert the gatekeeper to open the gates for his king. As Olyvar rode off, a hiss filled Robb's ear.

"I fucking hate you."

The King in the North rolled his eyes, "And why do you _fucking_ hate me, Smalljon?"

"You know damn well why! You didn't even ask me first!"

"I thought you'd be honored to become my good-brother, Smalljon, my sister is quite the beauty."

Smalljon fumed in his saddle, "You know fucking well it's not that." His loud voice turned into a whisper. "You know about _her._ "

Robb turned his head to actually look at his future good-brother for the first time, his eyes narrowing. "Your tavern whore? I hate to break it to you, Smalljon, but she's paid to say that she loves you."

The Umber heir spat at the ground, "I was going to marry her, fuck what my father says."

The king rolled his eyes yet again, "It's time for you to start acting like the heir to Last Hearth, Smalljon. You will wed my sister when we rescue her from the Lannister whether you like it or not. I will drag you to the wedding myself."

The heir to Last Hearth let out a smirk and knocked his elbow into his king's arm, "Won't be so happy when I'm fucking your sister senseless though, huh? She's too Southron, she's probably tight in all the right places too. Ha! Maybe I will marry your sister, Robb!"

Robb grimaced at the revolting image in his mind that Smalljon had placed there. Had he not been on his horse he would have tackled the Umber heir to the ground and probably gave him a good whack in the face for his comments against his sister. But for now he needed to act like a king, and a king does not act like a boy. Not in front of his entire army. Instead he growled and made an obscene gesture to his future good-brother.

"I fucking hate you."

Smalljon let out a large grin that mirror his father's, "Why thank you, _brother_!" The two rode in silence for awhile until finally, the Smalljon sighed again. "Why did you pick me? There are so many other lords that have sons and yet you pick me. Why couldn't you have just let me be happy?"

"You know well your father would have never let you wed such a lowborn girl, and besides, the match was a good one. Had I wed your sister Wylla, I would have betrothed Sansa to Harrion Karstark."

Smalljon gave a strange look to his king, "You considered Wylla? Gods Robb, that was a stupid idea." he paused, "No offense, your grace."

The Young Wolf gave his own strange look, "Speak freely, Smalljon."

The Umber heir looked around quickly to make sure no one was too close and whispered softly, "My sister Wylla is a whore in her own right."

"Excuse me?"

"Aye," he confirmed, "Don't tell my father, but Wylla has probably fucked every stable boy and servant in the keep since he's been gone. Hell! I walked in on her with her own maid and she asked if I wanted to _join._ You dodged a major problem, my friend."

The thought of almost marrying someone like that made Robb firmly happy that he chose Alys Karstark over Wylla Umber. He almost felt pity for the man she would one day marry, for if she wasn't careful she'd spawn a bastard or two of her own. _Bastards_ , the king thought to Jeyne Westerling again and wondered if the child she had carried was his own bastard or her husband's trueborn child. After he had lain with her, Jeyne had been almost immediately married off to prevent any feelings developing besides their one night. Robb too had been married off immediately to Roslin, and now reports from the Westerlands were the Jeyne had a healthy young boy. He would hate himself if that child was actually his, was that how his father felt all the time due to Jon?

"Your grace!" And with that Robb was pulled from his thoughts as he watched Olyvar return to his right hand side. "The gates are open, my father requests you and…." he paused, his eyes welled with tears for a split second. The Young Wolf placed his hand on Olyvar's shoulder, "Do not worry, brother, I understand." He turned once more to Smalljon, "Find me Lord Karstark, he will accompany Olyvar and myself." Smalljon nodded and rode off, giving Robb one last sneer as he remembered he would no longer be marrying his whore. Olyvar looked at the Umber heir, "Is he alright?"

Robb scoffed, "No, he's upset because he can't run off with a whore like in the songs. But nevermind Smalljon, no one in the Twins knows, do they?"

Olyvar shook his head, "No, they don't. Or at least my cousins don't. One of the Walders said he was excited to see Roslin again."

A silence fell between the two as they reached their destination. The King in the North dismounted and awaited for Rickard Karstark to catch up. When his future good-father finally did, he nodded to Olyvar. "Lead the way, brother."

* * *

"Robb Stark, the King in the North! Last time you were here you wed my daughter and rode off without a proper goodbye. Forgive me if I do not bow, bad back you know."

Gods he was irked by Walder Frey, "Lord Walder, always a pleasure."

The old lord grabbed the girl standing next to him by the breast and started to rudely squeeze it hard enough for her to squeal in pain. "They don't always come like this, but a woman's beauty is never unnoticed in my court. Isn't my new wife beautiful, your grace?"

Robb Stark nodded as best he could, "Aye, she is, my lord."

He smacked her on the arse and then shooed her away, the girl quickly followed by some of Walder Frey's other daughters. "Now, where is my Roslin? I demanded her here as well."

Robb narrowed his eyes, "It would do you well not to demand things of your king, Lord Walder."

"Bah," the weasley lord scoffed, "enough of that. Where is my daughter?"

Olyvar bowed his head and Lord Karstark stood silent as Robb sighed. "Roslin lost her life in the birthing chambers. Our daughter was stillborn as well."

Silence, dead silence. If he could have someone paint a portrait of Walder Frey's face in this moment he would have, even though it hurt his heart to say the words. "W-What?" he croaked, "D-Dead?" The whispers started to fill the hall, all of Walder Frey's spawn were conversing with one another. "Aye, my lord." the king responded, and that was all he could say. A few sniffles were heard from the women that remained in the hall, and one of the older Frey men, Ser Stevron maybe?, had ushered them out. Olyvar took a step forward and kneeled before his father.

"We have brought Roslin back to be buried with our ancestors. Her body is outside with the Silent Sisters being prepared for a burial. We thought it'd be best, it's what she would have wanted."

Walder Frey's shock was replaced with anger, "Well then we better get along with it. Bury her and then prepare for the wedding."

Robb looked utterly confused, "I'm sorry my lord, but what wedding?"

"Don't play dumb with me, boy, you know well what I mean. Well, which one of them do you want? Do I need to line them up again?"

 _Ah._ That was what he meant. Thankfully he had brought Lord Karstark with him, and thankfully Rickard laughed loudly enough to unnerved the Late Walder Frey.

"It would seem our king cannot do that, for he is already pledged to marry my daughter."

If one would have noted down the color on Walder Frey's face for the history books, they could have compared it to the blood red of the Targaryen dragon. He was fuming, a sight that made Robb secretly happy to see. The old man sputtered nonsense for a small time before finally screaming at the Stark king.

"How dare you! Oathbreaker! You were promised to my daughters! Mine!"

"Actually, my lord, I was promised to _one_ of your daughters. And though it pains me deeply that Roslin is dead, I need another queen."

Walder Frey pointed his bony finger towards the king, "You killed her, didn't you! You couldn't stand the idea of a Frey being your wife so you killed her!"

"Father!" Olyvar screamed, "I was in the camp when she went into labor. I was with Roslin the entire time, no one killed her."

"Quiet, whelp!" Frey spat at his son, his anger seething. "We'll see how you like breaking your oaths, Stark. My armies are no longer yours."

Robb placed his hands behind his back and stared at his former good-father, "Actually, Ser Alesander Frey leads the Frey troops, and he has sworn direct fealty of him and his men to me. Your troops are no longer yours to give and take."

"What happened to Ryman?!" another Frey asked, possibly one of his sons, Robb had no idea which Frey was which.

"Killed by an arrow in our most recent battle. He died fighting for his king."

"An oathbreaker!"

Rickard Karstark sneered, "My king has not broken one oath he made to you, Lord Frey, in fact he's going above and beyond by returning your daughter's body to her homelands."

Walder snarled, "Why did you bring your little puppet here, Stark? Trying to scare me into submission?"

"No," Robb responded calmly, "I brought my good-father here to make sure you understand that I am not marrying another of your daughters. Now, you can attend your daughter's funeral on the morrow with the rest of your kin, or if you continue to insult my honor I will call for your arrest."

"You wouldn't dare arrest a man in his own castle!" Frey challenged.

"Try me, my lord."

An intense staredown happened between Walder Frey and Robb Stark, and with the help of a snarl or two from Grey Wind, Walder realized that he had lost everything he had gambled with. His daughter was dead, and his grandchild would not be the future ruler of the North. Damn it, damn it all! He slunk back into his chair, a defeated sigh. "Fine, you win Stark."

The Young Wolf smiled and nodded his head, "Thank you, my lord." He turned and motioned for Olyvar and Rickard to follow him out of the keep, the faster he was away from the Twins the quicker he would never have to return to this dreadful place. Walder Frey sat in his seat and grumbled to himself, trying to come up with a plan that would put him back on top once again. He growled, he'd have to send for Roose Bolton after he paid a visit to his wife.

* * *

It wasn't that she hated needlework, but Alys Karstark never really enjoyed sitting down and practicing her stitches like a Southron. Her father had said that she could think of it as stitching skin together after it had been cut open, but that didn't even make it enjoyable. She had stitched her fifth Karstark sigil in the past week, and the other ladies in the castle seemed to be enjoying their needlework more than she had. She had wept for the loss of her brothers and stitched their own personal sigils upon the news of their deaths, but that had been months ago. Now Alys remained trapped in Karhold with these women who wanted to do nothing but needlework. Throwing her stitching to the side, the quietly excused herself and found her way to the library. Ah, the library, it was her guilty pleasure; one that her father had helped ignite by buying her whatever kind of books she wanted to read. Alys was well versed on the history of the North and she was often said she was better at her sums than Torrhen was; and Torr had been learning to become Harrion's steward.

But now her two brothers were dead and Harrion was held captive by the Lannisters. Her father and brothers had ridden off to war, and they had left her uncle, Arnolf, in charge. Now, Alys felt more alone than ever, with her cousin Cregan hungrily watching her every move, gah she wanted to take her needle and stab him through the eyes. But Alys wouldn't be a kinslayer, no, she'd simply find a way to make sure he froze his cock off on the wall. The daughter of Lord Rickard lit the small fire in the library and wrapped a warm blanket around her as she opened one of her favorite books. It was a detailed, well as detailed as you could get, history of the Andal invasion. She loved the stories of the Children of the Forest and of the Old Gods, they reminded her of the stories her wet nurse used to tell her and her brothers. Alys had barely been through the first page of the resumption of her book when the door to the library had creaked open and the familiar smell of the maester wafted through the door; the maester of Karhold always smelled of ink.

"Maester Armen, what brings you to my humble abode?"

The maester was a skinny man from the Reach who was missing one of his canine teeth, something that Eddard had lovingly teased him for years about. His goofy smile always brought a smile to Alys' face just as it did now.

"We've received a raven from your father, my lady."

Alys closed her book and stood, the last raven her father had sent was news of the deaths of Ned and Torr, she couldn't stand it if she was about to lose Harrion as well. But the smile remaining on the maester's face calmed her greatly. "And what news does my father send to us?"

"Your father requests your presence at the front immediately, he has betrothed you and the wedding must take place as soon as possible. Your father's words, not mine."

 _Thank the Gods._ At least now with a husband, her cousin Cregan and even Arthor would do well to stop watching her and trying to claim her as their own to get a claim on Karhold. She wondered who her father had betrothed her to, and she assumed the maester knew the answer to her question.

"And whom is to be my betrothed, maester? One of the Ryswells? An Umber perhaps?" She silently hoped her father didn't betroth her to Smalljon Umber, she didn't want to deal with his father's booming voice, nor his own booming voice that he was sure to have inherited.

Armen smiled, "Well, it seems that I should be the first one to bow to you, your grace."

Alys was… confused to say the least. "What are you saying, Armen?"

"You are to wed Robb Stark, the King in the North."

Alys' head began to spin and her heart fluttered. A king? _The_ king? Robb Stark, she hadn't seen him since they danced when he was just a boy. She shook her head. "Surely you jest, maester!"

The maester shook his head in denial and handed her the parchment, "Your father is not one to make jests. It seems that the Queen has died in childbirth, and Robb Stark has selected you to be his next queen."

Armen's words were true, her eyes scanned over her father's words, looking for some hidden meaning. But there was none, every word he said was true. She was to become the future Queen of the North… She tried to hide the smile on her face, of course she would be smiling, even Northern girls dreamed of being queen one day. She thanked the maester and took off towards her chambers. She would have to pack quickly.

Her father and king awaited.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here we are with chapter 3! Not much for me to say this time, except to thank you all once again for the reviews, favorites, etc. They really bring a smile to my face whenever they pop into my inbox. A marginally shorter chapter by a few hundred words this time around, but as the story gets rolling I know the chapters will get longer.**

 **Enjoy, everyone!**

* * *

Rickon Stark's stomach growled for the seventh time in the past hour, there was no doubt that the group was starving. Shaggydog and Summer had yet to return from their hunt, but even then the direwolves were starting to slim as well. The young boy clung to the wildling woman's back in a desperate attempt at not walking for the remainder of the journey, but Osha's back screamed in protest.

"Not now, little lord," she grimaced through her teeth, "once the sun goes down I'll carry ye."

Brandon Stark stared at the clouds in the sky, they were grey - it meant rain. If the group didn't find a good shelter soon, then it would be down to the elements to determine if they lived or died; if the hunger didn't kill them first. Meera Reed had been a fine hunter, helping Osha bring down rabbits here and there, but it wasn't enough. Soon winter would be upon them, and if things kept going the way they were going it wouldn't be long before starvation set in. It had been months since Theon had come into Winterfell and turned his cloak, and Bran hated the Greyjoy with every fiber of his being. He had once looked up to Theon as if he was an older brother, the one he would turn to if he ever had trouble with girls. But now, now Theon was as good as dead to him. He should have let Summer find and eat him before they left.

But now, Ramsay Snow was in charge of Winterfell, and he was the reason that they had fled from the catacombs of their homeland. With Theon in charge it was easy for Jojen to sneak into the kitchens and grab provisions, but with Ramsay? No, they fled as soon as the bastard of Bolton took his father's banner and hung it over the keep. Bran remembered how his mouth filled with bile at the sight of it. He shuddered at the memory, to which Hodor noticed. Ah Hodor, his faithful companion. Thankfully the stable boy had been his legs, and Bran wished he could reward him with _something_ for his service. But Hodor was loyal to Bran, and Bran alone. As Hodor fixed the blankets surrounding Bran, the prince smiled, "Thank you, Hodor." To which a simple, "Hodor." was the response. If only he could speak, Bran wondered what exactly he'd have to say.

Jojen had said they should head to the Wall, for that's where Bran and Rickon's bastard brother Jon Snow was. There Jon could have protected them until Robb was able to come and retrieve them. There, Ramsay couldn't have touched them. They would have been there two months ago had Ramsay's hunters not caught up to them and deterred them. Instead the group had fled south and made their way around the Bolton lands and were edging through the lands of Eastmelt into Karhold, or so he thought. His father once described the Weeping Water river as something that looked quite similar to this. He had mentioned that there was a patch of land here that he had planned to build a keep on one day, perhaps it would have been his. But now, Bran was but a cripple wandering in the wilderness with barely a clue of where they were.

Actually, he knew that they were looking at the Sea of Sorrows or one of the named oceanic seas close to it, for Meera had tried to drink from the water source and made the funniest face Bran had seen in a long time. It had been the first time he laughed in months. Surely if they followed this coastline north then they would reach the Wall in no time. Well, at least Eastwatch by the Sea, or whatever castle was at that end of the wall. Truthfully Bran couldn't recall that lesson with Maester Luwin. Luwin… The maester had given his life protecting the Stark princes, and he was a true ally in the end. He would never forget him for as long as he lived. Perhaps Robb would build a statue in his honor when he returned home, or send word to any of Luwin's family. Wait, did he have any? Bran looked to the sea, imagining a large creature erupting from the water.

"Do not worry Bran, there are no krakens in these waters."

Jojen had seen the fall of Winterfell in his green dreams, but he couldn't interpret the events truly until it had happened. The sea coming to Winterfell, he should have known! The prince looked to the boy who had become one of his closest friend and smiled, "I know, but what could be lurking in those waters?" They were still too south for seals, an animal that he had only seen the skin of on a hat the Greatjon had worn one particularly cold night on a visit to Winterfell when Bran was younger, but they were too north for turtles. Perhaps there were giant whales just waiting underneath the waves, waiting to greet the passersby. Jojen shrugged and returned to walking with his sister Meera, speaking of how different the landscape was from Greywater Watch.

The day turned to night and the direwolves had returned from their hunt, Summer bringing back half a deer in his jaws. Thankfully Osha knew her way around cooking meat, and the group had the best tasting thing they've had in weeks. But as they were scarfing down their meal, the twigs around them snapped louder than a single animal. The direwolves were on high alert, surrounding their masters. An arrow appeared out of the treeline, followed by the man who had it notched. Bran couldn't see the sigil he carried, nor could he recognize the sigils of his companions who followed suit of emerging from the treeline.

"Which king do you serve?" the man with the bow asked, his Northern accent heavy.

"This is Brandon Stark and his brother Rickon Stark," Jojen said, if he had any fear he sure wasn't showing it. Bran's breath hitched, these could be Ramsay's hunters finally having caught up to them. This could be the end of them.

But, the man with the bow lowered his weapon and knelt to the ground. His eyes staring at the direwolves that snarled and snapped. Another man in the group nervously questioned, "What the bloody hell are you doing?" The man bowed his head towards the group in respect before standing once more, placing his bow back into the holster strung across his back.

"I've seen King Robb's direwolf plenty of times to know what one looks like. His brothers were said to have been killed, their direwolves along with them. Who the fuck else would be running around with direwolves if it weren't for the princes?"

Whispers of princes and Stark flew around the men, there had to be twenty of them, and one by one they fell to their knees and bowed.

"Name's Mallador, my princes," the man with the bow introduced himself, "I am very grateful to see you are alive and well."

"Which lord do you serve, Mallador?" Bran asked, "You do not carry any banners with you."

The man stood, motioning for his men to do the same. "My men and I serve House Stark, but we live under the banner of Karstark and Lord Rickard pays us well for helping to hunt to feed his people."

Karstark, now that was a house Bran had remembered. Technically a cadet branch of House Stark, House Karstark was one of his father's -no, his brother's- most loyal bannermen.

"Can you take us to Karhold, Mallador?" Bran asked, his stomach thinking of a good meal, and his body and growing hair craved a bath. The man smiled an almost invisible smile thanks to his beard, "It would be my honor! Most of our horses are a few minutes away, we can have you there by sunrise tomorrow if we ride swiftly." Bran sighed a large sigh of relief, finally they would be safe. As the men helped Osha and Meera pack the small campsite that they had set up, Bran looked to the heir of Greywater Watch. "How did you know they were allies?"

The boy shook his head, "I didn't, they could have been Ramsay Snow's hunters. But I noticed the sigils on some of them, House Lightfoot, House Mollen; they were all sworn to Lord Karstark at the beginning of the war. Surely your brother couldn't have made them change their loyalties."

So he _could_ have gotten them killed! But thankfully, Jojen had remembered his sigils much faster and better than Bran ever did. He would be a good lord one day, Bran knew that for sure. Jojen was like Bran in that way, an ineptitude for war but a good head for ruling. Maybe with enough training, Robb would make Bran his steward. Or perhaps he would go to the Citadel and become a maester like Luwin in honor of him. He didn't think that he could have children one day, but then again he was still young and even the thought of kissing a girl still weirded him out. This Mallador, Bran would have to reward him for his service. Perhaps Robb could grant him lands of his own?

"Where are they taking us, Bran?" Rickon asked as he watched one of the men hook the cart Bran was being pulled in up to one of the horses they had brought along. "They're going to take us to friends, Rickon. Don't worry."

"Are they going to take us to Robb?"

Bran shook his head, "No, but they probably can send word to Robb that we're alright."

Rickon nodded and curled up next to his brother and the furs that surrounded him, almost instantly falling asleep. The horse that would be pulling Bran was nervous, and the Stark prince knew it was because of the direwolves. He whistled to the wolves and made sure they were focused on him. "Follow closely, but don't scare the horses."

Summer stared into his owner's eyes, almost as if he could understand exactly what the boy had said and quickly vanished into the brush, his brother following closely behind. Mallador saddled on the horse and looked down at the princes.

"I sure am glad you didn't sic your wolves on me, my prince."

Bran smiled, "You said you've seen my brother's direwolf, have you fought alongside Robb?"

Mallador nodded, "Aye, I fought for him at Oxcross, but milord sent me back to Karhold to help secure more food for the winter months to come." He shook his head in disbelief, "The black one you have there is bigger though, almost made me piss myself like a boy."

The hunter laughed which prompted Bran to laugh as well. Finally he felt safe. He flashed a look to the Reeds and they both looked happy as well. Finally they would be safe, and finally they could have a good meal. Maybe Lord Karstark's household would be willing to let him read the books in their library as well…

* * *

The ceremony was beautiful. Well, that's what his mother had said. Instead Robb felt guilt, even more so than he had felt previously when he had discovered his wife in a bed of blood. He hadn't paid attention to the funeral except when he was asked to place the first patch of dirt into her grave. Roslin had been buried on a hill where the sun hit just right, far enough away from the castle that Olyvar stated her ghost wouldn't be tormented by the dealings of their lord father. And while there had been a funeral for Roslin, there wouldn't be one for Bethany. Her bones would soon -hopefully- be buried within the Godswood of Winterfell. He had instructed a place near where his father had always sat when he returned from an execution. Perhaps Eddard Stark would be there to welcome his first grandchild into the Old Gods' presence. All his mind could think of now was the war and how to win it.

Greatjon had suggested that everyone celebrate the life of their queen with drinks and a celebration, Robb was not in the mood to celebrate. But seeing as it would help the morale of their troops, the King in the North allowed it. While he sat on a log away from the festivities, Olyvar had found him and stood guard next to him. Robb's heart panged, he had treated Olyvar like his trueborn brother, but his wife he had treated as a broodmare. He would have to do things differently the next time around. As Robb heard someone toast to Roslin's memory for the upteenth time, Robb prayed to the Old Gods. He prayed for his daughter's safe passage into their arms, he prayed for his sister's safe return, he prayed to them to help him win this war.

But above all, he prayed for forgiveness. He had obviously done something to upset the Old Gods in a way that cost him the lives of his daughter and wife. He promised them that he would do it differently this time, that he would treat Alys Karstark as a queen instead of a breeding machine for heirs. Heirs, he had tried to convince his bastard brother Jon to become his heir after Theon had killed Bran and Rickon, but his damn honor said that he would stay a member of the Watch. Robb remembered wanting to ride to the wall the instant he got the reply and kidnap his brother. But his mother, too gleefully he might add, said that if he had an heir he wouldn't have to worry about who would succeed him. Obviously what good that did.

"You know, I thought about betrothing Sansa to you, Olyvar."

His squire made a noise to show that he was listening to Robb but he didn't verbally respond, the subject was something the two did not often touch upon.

"It was a selfish thought," Robb admitted, "I wanted you to stay my brother, legally, and I could do that technically through Sansa." He took a sip of his ale which tasted bitter to a mourning soul, "But I have no idea if Sansa is well, or if I will ever see her again."

"Then why did you betroth her to Umber's son?" Olyvar questioned quietly, his mind clearly somewhere else.

Robb didn't know the answer himself, "Truthfully, I'm not sure. It was probably to show my good faith to House Umber, for all they've done for us. To show that I wasn't playing favorites when I picked Alys Karstark over the Greatjon's daughter." Smalljon's words about his sister still played in his head to which he quickly tried to forget about. "I know Smalljon isn't picky though, every other lord could think of an issue if Sansa wasn't a maid and demand more. Smalljon will take the marriage as is because of his father."

"You think your sister's not a maid?"

"Who can say otherwise?" the King in the North thought aloud, "She's been married off to the Imp, and knowing the Imp he's probably forced her into his bed multiple times. I await the raven saying she's birthed a Lannister son who will take my place should Joffrey win." Whoremonger, that's what he remembered of the Imp. Not the man who gave Bran plans for a saddle so he could ride, but the man who spent most of his time in Winterfell in the local brothels. Theon had even been turned down by Ros when she said that he wasn't as good as the Lannister dwarf. _That_ had been a shot at Theon's pride, and the man had been miserable for days. _Theon,_ that disgraceful turncloak. He had confessed to Robb one day that he wished that Lord Stark would gift him land of his own and betroth Sansa to him. But it seems that no one got what they wanted in life. Had his father did that, would Theon still have been loyal?

Olyvar finally came back to the conversation after his thoughts drifted off into the wind, "I am still your brother, Robb, now and always. You said it yourself, you aren't getting rid of me that easily."

Robb smiled, "I could find a new squire."

"You could," Olyvar fired back, "but none would be as fun as I am."

The two laughed as brothers would, and finally Robb hatched a master plan, one that would surely win Olyvar over. "If I have a daughter, and you have a son, perhaps we could betroth them to each other."

Olyvar smiled, "I'd like that a lot, your grace."

A daughter, Robb's heart panged once more for Bethany. She would have grown to be a fierce Northern princess, one that most men would wish to have but she would not allow it. Robb had a dream about her last night, riding on the top of a destrier and racing after her uncle Olyvar, her fiery hair blowing gracefully in the wind behind her. Lyanna Stark reborn is what he had whispered in the dream, even though he knew that title belonged to Arya. He remembered how in the dream, the adult Bethany had said the man she would marry would have to disarm her in a duel, but her grandmother would not allow it. Gods he wished she had lived, why hadn't she lived? He prayed that his Northman would be able to bury her body without strife and bring Ramsay Snow back to him along with Theon. Robb would make sure Theon rued the day he turned his cloak, and he would also make sure Ramsay knew what it was like to overstep the line and consider him a trueborn.

Robb stood and clapped his brother on the back, "Come now Olyvar, we should plan our next attack on the Lannisters." The Frey nodded and motioned for his king to lead the way. Robb pushed his way through his army into his war tent, nodding his thanks to his warrior's condolences. If he was going to stay sober when everyone else was enjoying a drink on his late wife's memory, he should at least get _some_ work done.

After all, the war wouldn't win itself.


End file.
